Readers might recall a scene many years ago in Keeping up with the Kardashians.
Kim is crying hysterically over a lost earring in the sea, while big sister Kourtney deadpans: “People are dying, Kim.”
Brooklyn Beckham could use a similar reminder today.
The eldest Beckham just lobbed a six-page Instagram grenade at his parents, David and Victoria, unloading a laundry list of grievances that read like a spoiled heir’s diary entry. The crimes? Mum allegedly “hijacked” his first dance at his wedding to Nicola Peltz (dancing “inappropriately” on him in front of 500 guests — awkward!). She supposedly bailed on designing Nicola’s wedding dress at the eleventh hour, she refused to promote a dog charity. And oh yes — the family doesn’t like his wife enough. Fairly standard family politics if you ask me.
He claims his family have controlled him his whole life, that fame came first and the brand Beckham was all that mattered. But let’s step back and get real. Brooklyn isn’t some misunderstood victim here. He’s the poster boy for what happens when silver-spoon kids never taste struggle.
A few years back, he woke up one day and decided: “I’m a photographer!” Cue glossy book launch, Ralph Lauren sponsorship, A-list bash. Traumatic, I’m sure. But Tom from Swindon — the lad who actually studied photography, interned for free, and hustled his way up — probably didn’t get the red-carpet rollout for his student portfolio.
Photography bored him? No worries — his next career: a celebrity chef! Real chefs grind through years of blood, sweat, and potato-peeling blisters. Brooklyn? He skipped the culinary school part, that’s only for plebs. He wanted to get straight to it, but he skipped the kitchen slavery too, jumping straight to flogging fancy toasted cheese sandwiches in a high-end studio like he invented the Caesar salad. Tom from Swindon is still scrubbing pans till his hands bleed on a Saturday night service in a restaurant somewhere, hoping to work his way up in the kitchen over years of back breaking work.
Then came the hot sauce empire. Fair enough, all hugely successful Chefs end up with a product. The rest of us dream up recipes in our kitchens too but we don’t have the mighty Brand Beckham bankrolling every whim with sponsors, photo ops, zero consequences and a loving family that show up to every event to promote me.
Here’s the kicker: Brooklyn happily milked that family fame for every launch, every party, every “perfect family” promo. He took the internships (like the one with famous photographer Rankin that someone more qualified must have lost out on), the celebrity glow-ups, the easy doors that slam shut for regular people. Now, with his mega-rich American wife and her billionaire family, he suddenly craves “privacy”?
We went through this with the royal muppets of Montecito, Harry and Megan. The the accusations of gaslighting and trauma and requests for privacy. A few years later and what have we got? Some mediocre Netflix cooking shows and a series of expose articles. Privacy can wait I guess.
So what does Brooklyn do to kick off his quiet life? Drops a media nuke so explosive it’d make Donald Trump blush. Publicly eviscerating his mum — a woman who’s built empires while raising four kids under the spotlight — over nonsense like a wedding dress and a dance floor mishap.
I note my colleague Laura Perrins has come out strong for Brooklyn, but I am team Beckham all the way. Victoria’s clothes? Iconic. David’s legacy? Untouchable. I’ve been a fan of Victoria since David was entertaining Rebekah Loos in Madrid. Enduring public humiliation while keeping a family together and maintaining a dignified silence? In this age? That’s something to be admired, and skills she will surely have to rely on now. I don’t think any family drama is serious enough to humiliate your mother in this way, and Ms. Peltz should take note, because a man who will so easily cut off his parents and siblings for a wife, will one day cut off a wife and children for a girlfriend.
None of us know the effect a life in the spotlight would have on us, and undoubtably parents make mistakes — shielding kids from real hardship tops the list. But strip away the fame and money, and this is the same trap everyday mums and dads fall into: no work, no knockbacks, no accountability and what can you expect once a little bit of adversity comes along? An epic, entitled adult meltdown.
Brooklyn’s now a married man, a (sort-of) photographer, a (kinda) chef, and apparently a grudgy whinger. Time to grow up, get a proper job that doesn’t rely on mummy and daddy’s name, and apologise to the woman who gave you everything.
Because, Brooklyn… people are dying.
And your little family spat? It’s not even close to the top of the tragedy list.